The Man of Shadow and Spirit
by The Smash Artist
Summary: A Zora journalist plans to make it big by interviewing a rather controversial character: the man of shadow and spirit. OC introduction. Set after events in Twilight Princess, the most current in my reinterpreted timeline. Please read, enjoy, and review!
1. Chapter 1

Various characters occupied the cedar tables. Only a few more lined the bar, engaged in active conversation with the barmaid Telma and each other. One such character, a Zora journalist, waited patiently for her expected party to arrive from the castle. She had waited a long time for this opportunity. It was just a shame that it had to be such a late hour. You see, the subject of her article was a mystery to many people and quite a castle recluse. No one in town ever saw the subject leave or return in broad daylight. The journalist glanced around at the others in the bar, wondering whether or not their life stories would make interesting articles. Then someone she thought must have been her subject entered the bar. A dark robe hid a rather large frame. The hooded figure panned longingly around the room until he spotted the fish-woman at her table and approached.

"I was supposed to meet a Miss Chara Quirinus at this tavern right around this time," said the strange figure. She studied the figure's face before answering, deciding he was male. His skin, even hidden under that cloak, appeared a shade or two darker than most. His mildly sloped bushy eyebrows and blizzard-toned hair contrasted sharply the dull red of his pupils, making him appear in this light like a rather odd, hairless yeti – and one with a partial widow's peak. His smooth, thick brow extended down to a larger straight nose. The smooth curve of the wide jaw and the natural pout of thin lips balanced his noticeable cheekbones. Everything else remained hidden by his black cloak.

"Yes, I am Miss Quirinus. You must be Khesiah Drouge, then," she affirmed. "You want anything to drink before we start?" He studied her carefully. Despite being a fish-woman she was one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen.

"A stein of mead would be quite agreeable," replied the stranger. "Now, listen well, because you will likely not get this opportunity again." The journalist hollered over to the barmaid.

Readying her fin pen and parchment, Miss Quirinus said, "You can begin when ready Khesiah."

The odd man collected his thoughts. "Most folks call me Kay-Dee. You are welcome to use that name too. One friend just calls me 'Alphabet,' but that's forgivable. He's a little slow. I am the first of my kind and the last of my kind. My parents were the least likely couple to be such. One full of fiery spirit, the other icy shadow.

"Do you have grandparents? Great-grandparents? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins? Great. Then you know what I never will. You see, both of my parents were the last of their respective kinds. Both had lived for centuries, mostly in opposition to each other. Any relatives I might have are long dead. From my father's word, I would have had a lot of paternal aunts." Telma appeared with the tall cool mug of honey-beer. He took a big frothy gulp of the fluid before continuing.

"My father, people tell me, was once among the most terrible horrors ever to walk the surface of the land. Power hungry and willing to do anything to get it. I can believe that. He always pushed me – his great treasure - to the maximum. His conservatory students also say that he was something of a tyrant, though his methods developed many of today's greatest musicians. Though he was a marvelous organist and wanted the same for me, I flocked toward the stringed instruments. As a result of his education, I can pick up and play competently almost all of them. My favorite is the Hylian lute. You might expect me to display my father's hunger for great power and renown, but growing up around it fostered a dislike of such things in me. I guess I take after my mother in that respect. My father was never a nurturing person, instead preferring to dispense advice and let me learn from my bumps. His temper was flat-out scary at times. But it made me mentally tough. Strangely enough, my parents never did say what transformed his heart. I'm willing to bet it had something to do with his age.

"My mother, people tell me, was instrumental in many of his defeats. I'll bet you no one saw this joke of the goddesses coming. I, of course, refer to their marriage. She was content to sit back and guard the royal family, though she could have taken the power for herself any time she wanted. She had served many of the Hylian princesses, sometimes being close enough to them to be a second mother. She was the yin to my father's yang. More often than not it was her cooler head that prevailed in his decisions. I fancied her as a cushion to his iron. She was very nurturing and wise but could give lectures that made my blood run cold. Her interesting brand of care prepared me to deal with my father while retaining my esteem and sanity. She was most instrumental in developing my physical toughness."

"Were your parents good to you?" Asked the Zora journalist.

"Both of my parents were there for me. At times I felt alien to my mother, and just outright hated by my father. But they were always there to support me and to teach me survival in the world. I guess that's what filial love is all about." K.D. took another big gulp of his drink.

"Since my parents were anything but short, I was always the tallest of my friends growing up. I finally topped out at six-feet-five-inches and around two hundred forty pounds. Thanks to my mother's emphasis on training the body I am quite muscular and thanks to my ancestry have very little body hair. I haven't taken to wearing a forehead jewel, but I do have tattooed on my body the symbols of my heritage. Man, the ink work hurts! Especially since it is done with a living tektite and ink made from ground-up deku nuts. Would you like to see it?"

Miss Quirinus nodded affirmatively, in hopes of getting a glimpse of his surely muscular body. The man seemed ripped underneath that cloak. He yanked down on a large patterned scarf outlined by parallel rook patterns at both ends. The tavern was too dim to tell color. The journalist was right as he bared his nearly hairless muscular chest. She could not see a tattoo until he picked up their table's candle and held it to his chest. She saw the violet outline of a single eye. Above it was five triangular violet lashes. Below it was a single teardrop of the same color, connected to the pattern's lower end at the pupil. K.D. replaced his garments before reaching underneath the dark cloak to retrieve his right arm. His violet wristband carried the same pattern as his scarf, only the rook's lavender steeples pointed toward his hand. The pattern's valley contained parallel rectangle outlines of the same color. Jeweled gauntlets protruded from the south end of these wristbands. The jewels matched his eyes with uncanny chromatic accuracy, as did the gauntlets his hair. He unsheathed his dark violet sleeve to reveal his right bicep. It contained an outline of a star-and-crescent in the same violet ink. After concealing his arm and replacing the candle on the table, he spoke:

"You may wonder why I am so drawn to the color purple. I feel it best represents my biculturalism. Red for my father, blue for my mother. The combination is purple and its many shades."

"Do you know the meaning and purpose of the symbols you wear?" Asked the journalist.

"Yes, but I choose to keep it secret," replied the mysterious man. He changed subjects before she could question him about it again.

"As I said before, I never had much ambition. I rather like the menial jobs of the world. They give you plenty of time to think and you don't have to answer to more people than you ought. I've tried everything from ranching in Ordon to delivery to maintaining the Kakariko hot springs. Lately I've found work as a swordsman-for-hire. Just got back from a bounty on a tribe of Moblins. Some people say you don't want to mess with them. But when you are shown the temple the living dead through childhood bedtime stories, you become kind of fearless toward monsters.

"When my parents died, their closest friends Queen Zelda and Captain Link became my godparents. From then on my presence was encouraged at all the royal functions. I went to a few of them. I didn't much like the phoniness of most of the aristocracy. I had been reared a straight shooter. These people talked about petty things. I wanted no part of their conversation most of the time. My father always loved the attention and prestige that came as Dean of the Royal Conservatory. As a very private person I developed dislike for excess attention. Guess I take after my mother in that respect. People seem impressed with my readiness on all sorts of conversation topics, so it isn't for lack of talent. This is another reason I like menial work.

"Godfather Link only showed me his prized Master Sword a couple of times. I think he got a little jealous after watching the way I took to it – it took to me, if you ask him. Something tells me I will end up wielding it one day. That's okay. As long as don't get a Sacred Triangle. They're locked away in the Sacred Realm, permanently I hope. All the trouble surrounding those three triangles makes me believe they never should have appeared in the first place. Showing off with a cool sword is one thing. Handling a goddess-powered icon is quite another." Mild rage adorned his striking features, scaring the female Zora just a bit. The emotion quickly passed and he resumed speech.

"I rather like lonely forgotten places. I love the mesa and the underground caverns. The places most people find scary I find peaceful. One of my favorite sanctuaries is the decaying Temple of Time in the Lost Woods. I can think there. I love adventure but hate excess attention. I often wonder if a cattle drive might be up my alley. Perhaps I can improve my family name. It still strikes terror into many hearts. Sometimes I am still regarded with an evil eye. Perhaps that's why I like being alone most of the time. Don't have to deal with guilt that people bestow on me because of the Dragmire name." The utterance caused a slightly drunk man to coldly regard its speaker. K.D. simply waited until the man's intoxication diverted his interest before resuming conversation with Miss Quirinus, using the time to chug down most of his mead.

"I see what you mean," she deadpanned. He smirked and continued.

"Never found a woman. Most I met are too much trouble to figure out and I never really felt the need to try. If and when I do, she'll have to be as free a spirit and free of the so-called female cliché. The fisherwoman who runs the pond in Upper Lake Hylia is nice, though just a bit too old for me. Maybe an older woman is better: I feel like an old soul. Not surprising when your family consists of just two people with a couple thousand years between them." He emptied his stein and sat it on the table.

"So that's me – shadow and spirit balanced right down the middle. Hope you've learned what you wished. You're welcome to chronicle my future adventures." Miss Quirinus seemed rather pleased by this invitation. He stood and turned toward the door.

"Thank you, K.D. I assure you a favorable article in the Hylian papers. It has been really interesting. When can I see you again?" The mysterious man turned back toward her and coyly said:

"When you find me."


	2. Disclaimer

Disclaimer: The names and characters used in this story are from the "Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess" and owned by Nintendo. I own only the character of the journalist and the story's protagonist. So don't sue me. Ever. For anything. You got that?


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